" "That's impossible," replied Jack. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. ’ ‘She once more,’ came in disgust from the girl on the bed. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. Not like my father. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food.
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